A Strip of Cloth
by laurelinwen
Summary: This is a Fan-Fiction of LessWrong's "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality." In another reality in accordance with multiverse theory , Harry doesn't allow Hermione to become... something. Can't tell you, would give it away. I've included text from the original HPMOR in an attempt to make this work in LessWrong's canon. Please forgive me, LessWrong. *grovel


Disclaimer: This is a fan-fiction of LessWrong's "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality," which is in turn a fan-fiction of J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series. I own the rights to neither. Needless to say, "HPMOR" is one of the greatest works of fan-fiction ever written. Far more ground-breaking than certain twilighty shades of greyish type stuff... You _learn_ things from it! It is it's own science pedagogy.

WARNING: SPOILERS for Chapter 81 of LessWrong's "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality"!

Premise: In Chapter 81, Hermione Granger swore service to House Potter. In another reality (in accordance with multiverse theory), Harry doesn't allow it. (I've included text from the original HPMOR in an attempt to make this work in LessWrong's canon. Please forgive me, LessWrong. *grovel*)

-oOoOo-

"Y-yes," whispered the voice of Hermione Granger. "I c-can talk."

Harry opened his eyes again and saw her face, now looking at him. It didn't say anything like what he thought Hermione was feeling, faces couldn't say anything that complicated, all facial muscles could do was contort themselves into knots.

"H-H-Harry, I-I'm so, I'm so -"

"Shut up," Harry suggested.

"s-s-sorry -"

"If you'd never met me on the train you wouldn't be in any trouble right now. So shut up," said Harry Potter.

A slight intake of breath. "But Harry - that's a hyp" - she hiccuped - "hypothesis contrary to fact. I app-p-reciate your help, really I do, but you aren't thinking rationally."

Her face constricted with tension, etched with pain and fear of the plum-colored enemy surrounding them, of the _wrongness _hovering within meters of the desperate trio.

But her eyes -

Hermione's brown eyes were wide and round with worry for _him_, for Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, rumored to be the next Dark Lord. Amid these concentric circular hollows of torture, she was worried for _him_. She had even cited the "hypothesis contrary to fact" fallacy, wherein Harry had falsely stated that he was the sole cause of her appearance in the Wizengamot.

She had been right to correct him, for Harry was not in his right mind. His dark side was slowly being illuminated by the memory of a setting sun, 7.5% of which represented the Light side of humanity, that rare piece to which Hermione Granger belonged.

Harry swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"Both of you stop being silly," Professor McGonagall said in her firm Scottish accent (it was strange how much that helped). "Mr. Potter, hold out your wand so that Miss Granger's fingers can touch it. Miss Granger, repeat after me. Upon my life and magic -"

Harry did as he was bid, thrusting his wand forward to touch Hermione's fingers; and then Hermione's faltering voice said, "Upon my life and magic -"

Harry's heart rose to his throat, beating a rapid staccato that Lucius Malfoy might have heard, had he cared to listen.

This was the moment.

Harry would twine his life with Hermione's, a pair of snakes winding the caduceus, an HP and HG double-helix built to dominate (er, optimize) the planet, then the sun, the galaxies, and finally Death itself.

"I swear service to the House of Potter -" said Professor McGonagall.

_What?_

McGonagall was swearing Hermione into servitude? To _him? _

"WAIT!" he bellowed. Professor McGonagall turned toward him in astonishment. Hermione kept her eyes locked on his, the same worried look trained upon him.

_Why did you stop her?_ demanded Slytherin.

_Hermione could never be a servant to House Potter! Gryffindor_ seethed. _She is our equal!_

_But whenever she bothered us, we could order her to shut up,_ Slytherin suggested reasonably.

_I can't believe you just thought that_, Hufflepuff huffed, and Gryffindor nodded his ephemeral support.

_Think, _interrupted Ravenclaw. _What is the likelihood that Hermione would make a good wife?_

_SYSTEM ERROR._

_Sorry, I won't say "wife" again -_

_SYSTEM ERROR_

_Right, _Ravenclaw cut in hastily. _Think FAST, McGonagall is starting to open her mouth._

Harry thought fast.

Hermione was his best friend. Through Bayesian logic, Harry inferred that she was the most likely of his colleagues to remain by his side through thick and thin, up and down, light and dark.

In a world full of seven billion humans, 7.5% of the population possessed the ability to stand up to evil, as indicated in the Milgram experiment.

_Narrow it down_

Of that 7.5%, there was a very small fraction who could hold their own in any debate with Harry Potter.

_Narrow it down_

Of that tiny percentage, only one had accumulated life experience alongside Harry. Well, perhaps two, but Harry doubted whether Draco Malfoy would pass the Milgram experiment.

_Narrow it down_

_I _have _narrowed it down, _Ravenclaw retorted. _Hermione is a clear winner._

_Narrow it further, _said Gryffindor and Hufflepuff simultaneously.

. . .

_Do you love her?_ asked Hufflepuff.

Sounds were coming from Professor McGonagall's mouth, but very slow and low to account for the speed at which Harry's mind was racing.

_Well? _Hufflepuff prodded. _Do you?_

_You know the answer to that question_, Harry replied.

The world caught up with him.

" . . . Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall finished, but Harry had missed the beginning of the question.

No matter.

"I need a strip of cloth about a meter long," Harry announced. Hermione was looking at him as though he'd grown another head, though her expression still registered faint worry.

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore tossed something into the air. A blue-and-yellow striped necktie ribboned down to Harry, who caught it just before it could touch the ground.

"Hermione, I'm going to need your hand," Harry said steadily, though his insides were doing back flips.

A quivering hand rose as far as it could from the chains binding it to the interrogation chair. Harry's fingers shook as he tied a loose knot around Hermione's hand.

Her eyes rose to his, and the worry was suddenly replaced by surprise and suspicion.

He tore his gaze away from hers, putting all of his concentration into tying an elaborate knot around his own hand. Harry's mother had watched enough television romances for him to have subconsciously memorized the words for this particular ceremony.

Harry covered his hand with his, then looped the remaining fabric around their connecting fingers.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall whispered, but Harry cut her short with a rough shake of his head.

Phosphorescent butterflies pitched cartwheels in his stomach. He opened his mouth:

"I, Harry Potter, take thee, Hermione Granger, to my wedded wife"

_SYSTEM ERROR_

Harry's voice began to tremble. "Till death us depart"

The Dementor in the corner rose slightly, as though in response to the invocation of its purpose.

Harry's eyes sliced toward the wound in the world, and the thing shuddered before retreating into its corner.

Hermione laced her fingers through Harry's.

"And thereto I plight thee my troth," he finished. Harry stared, eyes riveted to the place where their hands joined. It felt as though sparks flew each time her fingers trembled against his.

Hermione's eyes were larger than ever, and her lips quivered slightly as she began the traditional response:

"I, Hermione Granger, take thee, Harry Potter, to my wedded husband -"

_SYSTEM ERROR_

_Shut up_ _and enjoy the moment_, scolded Hufflepuff.

Hermione's voice was soft. "Till death us depart -"

Her fingers were soft, though a bit sweaty. "And thereto I plight thee my troth."

Harry felt Hermione's eyes tugging at him, and with some reluctance, he met them:

_You know what comes next_, she told him with her eyes.

He sighed. There was no getting out of this one. He bent toward her -

- and in Hogwarts Castle, every girl and boy with any hint of romance in their heart held their breath -

- Harry closed his eyes, and planted his lips on Hermione's.

Soft and supple, her lips. Warm and inviting, her breath. A chain reaction had begun when their mouths touched, working through Harry's cheeks and down his throat and into his fingertips, his toes, his stomach, through the roots and to the tips of each dark brown hair on his head.

Harry was on fire. He was Fawkes. He could even hear the Phoenix cheering him on from its perch on the Headmaster's shoulder.

He had no idea whether Hermione was experiencing the same reaction, but based on her fingers tightening around his, he guessed the affirmative.

To hell with the pessimistic planning fallacy, anyway.

Cold air brushed past Harry's lips, and his eyes slowly opened. He felt drugged.

"Ahem!" said the old wizard from his podium of dark stone. "This session has carried on quite considerably, and if it is not dismissed soon, some of us may miss their entire luncheon. The law of this matter is clear. You have already voted on the terms of the bargain, and Lord Malfoy cannot legally decline it. As we have far exceeded our allotted time, I now, in accordance with the last decision of the survivors of the eighty-eighth Wizengamot, adjourn this session."

The old wizard tapped the rod of dark stone three times.

"You fools!" shouted Lucius Malfoy. The white hair was shaking as though in a wind, the face beneath was pale with fury. "Do you think you'll get away with what you've done today? Do you think that girl can try to murder my son and escape unscathed?"

. . .

Back in Hogwarts Castle, the romantically inclined student body finally released their breath.

At the same instant, in the Mighty Ancient Hall of the Wizengamot, a young man's mind reeled with new uses for his time-turner, tucked innocently beneath his robes.

He was just calculating the odds of convincing Hermione to follow him into his chest cavern, when the toad-like pink-makeup woman, whose name Harry could no longer remember, stood up from her seat.

"Why, of course not," she said with a sickening smile. "After all, the girl _is_ still a murderess, and I think the Ministry shall be watching her affairs quite closely - it hardly seems wise that she should be allowed to wander the streets, after all -"

Harry was fed up at this point.

-oOoOo-

_END alternative reality skew, continue Chapter 81._


End file.
